


A New Kind of Color

by Emerald_Insanity



Series: Self-Insert Into the Spider-Verse because I'm a lonely person^TM [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Canon Compliant, Color Confusion, Consensual Underage Relationship, Eventual Poly Ship, Fluff, Gray-Asexual OC, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of NSAP, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Multi, Nazis, Nightmares, Noir Needs Mental Help, Noir's universe, Non-Sexual Age Play, Nonbinary Character, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Scars, Self-Harm, Self-Insert, Some canon divergence because I started this before I read the Noir comics, Song Reference, attempted 30s slang, mostly - Freeform, nic cage has a nice voice apparently, noir gets a hug :), noir is a skinny bean, noir needs a hug, non-sexual nudity, nonbinary OC, nonbinary pronouns, oc is a little, oc needs mental help, possible revision of previous chapters, protective noir, spider person oc, underage Noir/adult Pb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:19:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Insanity/pseuds/Emerald_Insanity
Summary: Peter Benjamin Parker was glad to be back home in his universe: that is, until his dimensional transporter broke. All hope was lost of seeing his friends again. And then, Michael Morales showed up.





	1. Gray

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first fanfiction on this website or otherwise, so pardon me if I suck.  
> Thank you so much for reading! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1933\. What a time to be alive.

Michael didn’t know what happened. One minute they were swinging from building to building in Brooklyn, the next they were being pulled into some sort of swirling vortex.

_ THUD! _ Michael’s body hit the ground, startling them awake. They tugged their eyes open wearily. They must have blacked out. Michael dragged their arm up their torso. One rib, two ribs… They groaned, wincing as they felt a broken bone beneath their skin. They could tell that there were more, but they were too afraid to feel around for them.

Michael gingerly moved to sit up, but their other arm wouldn’t move, hanging limply at an odd angle at their side. It seemed to be dislocated.

Murmuring a curse, they leaned back on their good arm to examine their surroundings.

_ What the hell? _ Michael had heard of different dimensions, but they couldn't even fathom what they found. Everything was… black and white? They wondered if they hit their head a little too hard.

Michael took in a deep breath, trying to ground themself. The air smelled like it had just rained, and Michael realized that it must have, cold water from the black concrete seeping into their suit. They lifted their head slightly to look around, observing the tall gray buildings against the black sky. The dimly-lit street stretched as far as Michael could see before the shapes blended into a distant monochrome blur.

Suddenly, a shiver went down their spine, and they swiveled their head around to see who or what was there. They were met with a tall figure, bulky and wide.

“Hello, little child. Are you new to this town?” The person’s deep voice was laced with a strange accent. What was it?  _ Italian? No…  _

Michael blinked up at the voice, their eyes struggling to focus in the darker dimension.  _ Russian? No… _

Before they could unscramble their thoughts and answer, the man grabbed them by the front of their suit and tugged them upward. “I asked you a question, child.” The man’s voice was angry, almost a growl as his accent thickened.

“No, I’m just passing through,” Michael squeaked. They froze, eyes wide. They had forgotten to deepen their voice, and the man seemed to notice, his eyes narrowing. The scowl on his pale face turning upward ever so slightly.

“Ah, I see.” He released his grip, and Michael dropped back to the wet concrete. “What is a young girl like you doing traveling alone?” The man’s slight smile grew to a smirk, his eyes growing dark. That was odd. Michael thought Germans didn’t smile. That didn’t make it any less unnerving.

“You never know what could happen, especially at this time of night,” the man continued. Suddenly, he grabbed Michael’s face and injured shoulder each with a stony grip, causing them to cry out in pain. The man was unfazed. “I’d like to see what’s under that mask, little girl.” He abruptly released their face and grabbed the bottom of their mask, yanking it up to their chin.

Before Michael could say “That’s a no-no,” the man fell to the ground, pulling them down with him.

“That Nazi needs to learn to pick on someone his own size,” a new voice spoke, smoother and with a different, more familiar accent. Michael strained to lift themself up off the ground again, having fallen on their injured arm.

“Need some help there, little fella?” Before they knew it, they were being pulled upward into someone’s arms. This new person was a little rough, but still gentler than the “Nazi” had been. Michael suddenly felt an odd tingle run through their body. It was as if their spider sense was going off, but it was different. When they lifted their head to meet their savior’s face, they realized the person carrying them was experiencing a similar sense of shock.

“You… you’re like me!” Michael managed to say--remembering to deepen their voice--before bursting into a coughing fit that shook their entire body.

“Hey, take it easy there.” The man glanced around. “Let’s get out of here before more of them show up. Can you stand?”

Although they were still baffled, Michael allowed themself to fall out of the man’s arms, figuring that they should try despite their injuries. But as soon as their feet hit the ground, they doubled over in pain. They must have broken one of their hip bones too.

Again, a pair of gloved hands scooped them up off the ground. Michael winced. As much as their body hurt, they still hated being seen as weak. Still, they tried to relax in the stranger’s arms.

Beneath the dark trench coat he wore, he was muscular, but Michael realized that he was unnaturally skinny as well. Didn’t he get much food? Michael wondered if there was something wrong with him, but given the circumstances, they decided it would be best not to ask. Glancing up at the man’s masked face, Michael saw themself reflected in a pair of shiny silver goggles that rested beneath a black fedora. Michael admired the stranger’s sense of fashion for a brief second before being whisked away into the sky.

Web-slinging felt different being carried. Michael had never imagined there could be another Spider-Man in any of the other universes. They just thought it was them, that they were alone. In a way, they enjoyed it thoroughly. To be special was to stand out, especially if you saved people. It made most people think you were strong, that you had it all together. That you weren’t helpless.

Finally, the stranger landed on the side of a gray brick building and pulled open a window. As he climbed inside, he gently held Michael’s head to make sure they didn’t hit it on the pane.

As the man let Michael down on the couch, they mustered up the courage to ask a question, wincing at the new pressure on their ribs. “How did I get here?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” The stranger seemed just as confused as Michael felt, even though he showed no emotion behind his large silver goggles. He sighed and rubbed his brow as if he was deep in thought. Michael was becoming more nervous by the minute. How would they get home if they didn’t even know how they got here in the first place?

“Can you at least tell me where I am?” they asked.

“New York, 1933." The man's reply surprised Michael. "I haven’t had many visitors in my dimension since…” His voice trailed off.

“Since when?”

“Never mind.” He bowed his head to take off his hat and hung it on the coat hanger beside the window. Any normal person would have thought it was an odd place for a coat hanger, but for someone who seemingly entered through the window on a regular basis, it made sense.

“The name’s Peter Parker. What’s yours, little fella?” His voice softened on the last part in an almost affectionate way. Clearly, he was glad to have rescued another Spider-Man rather than someone who would be less than grateful like many in his dimension probably were. Michael always encountered people like that.

“Michael Morales,” they replied. Peter turned slightly toward them as if he was surprised before pacing back and sitting lightly on the arm of the couch.

“All right, let’s get you fixed up.” Michael tensed. They didn’t want this person touching them, even if he was trying to help. Especially if he was trying to help.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya. Just stay still for a minute while I go get some stuff. I’ll be right back.” He backed up cautiously, still facing Michael, then turned to go into another room.

Michael stifled a sigh. They were in a stranger’s apartment in a strange world with no way to get home. Even worse, they were injured badly in the 1930s. There was no way they would get better with the lack of medical technology. They laid their head down on the arm of the couch, a throbbing pain growing behind their eye sockets. What they would give for some over-the-counter painkillers.

Peter came back into the room carrying a small, beaten-up first-aid box. “You wanna take off your suit so I can see what’s wrong?” Michael lifted their head again and shook it quickly, eyes wide.

“Okay, I understand.” Soon, he was seated on the arm of the couch once again. “At least let me relocate your arm.” Michael was silent as Peter cautiously approached, gloved hands taking hold of their shoulder and limp arm that was beginning to ache. His grip was firm and hardly gentle. Michael would have flinched away if they could, but Peter’s strong hands and hidden gaze were holding him in place.

“This’ll hurt a bit.” Michael nodded. They were sure they had felt worse.

It was over in a couple seconds, and Michael moved their arm one again, less painfully.

“All right, little fella, I’m gonna need you to take off your suit.” Peter’s voice was gentle, almost empathetic, as if he knew how it felt to be exposed.

_ He could never know what it feels like, _ Michael thought harshly.

Sensing their hesitation, Peter sighed. “You don’t have to take off your mask, just your suit. I’ll give you some clothes to wear instead if you’d like.”

Michael looked down, tugging at the fingers of their suit. “All right,” they conceded.

Peter retreated into a different room, which they assumed was his bedroom. The first room must have been the bathroom. Scanning the rest of the main room behind them and to the left of the couch, Michael found a small kitchenette: a minuscule stove with a kettle on it beside a small counter and then a sink. Both the counter and sink seemed to be stained with speckles of something dark-colored. They pushed their imaginative thoughts of what it might be to the back of their head. Aside from that, there was--unsurprisingly--no microwave or refrigerator.  _ 1933\. What a time to be alive. _

 

* * *

 

Peter dug through his drawers to find something that might fit the young boy in his living room. Everything that he owned would surely be too big for him. Peter was tall. Michael was not. Finally, he settled on a white button-up and an old discarded pair of trousers he had long since outgrown--found in the back of one of his drawers. He had been saving the fabric in case he needed to patch up any of his other clothes. He couldn't afford to throw them away.

Finally, he came back into the living room. One of the first things about Michael that had struck him as interesting was his choice of suit color. Instead of the vibrant hues of the other spiders that he knew, Michael’s suit was black with the usual web print in silver. Not only was this interesting to Peter, but he was also grateful. Sometimes all those colors hurt his eyes, especially after being in his own dimension for a few months.

Another thing that struck Peter when he first saw Michael was the little slits in his suit on his wrists a bit below the bottom of his palms. Those slits revealed deeper ones in the skin--spinnerets--just like Peter had. Unlike the other spiders, Peter produced webs from his own body. That had to mean that Michael did too.

Living during the Great Depression, however, meant that Peter had to be selective about when to use his webs; his body wouldn’t be able to produce them if he lacked the nutrients. Heck, he hardly made it back to his apartment. It had been a rough week with little food.

“Here.” Peter handed Michael the clothes. He could feel the younger spider eyeing him suspiciously behind his mask.

“Turn around,” Michael demanded. Peter complied wordlessly. He knew he wouldn’t like to be exposed in front of a stranger either.

However, keeping himself from looking was rather difficult. Peter wasn’t one to look peep at strangers, but Michael seemed to grunt with every movement, struggling to put on the clothes. Finally, Peter gave in.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” He glanced over his shoulder, hand covering his goggles so he wouldn’t make Michael feel uncomfortable. He could almost feel him start for a second when he spoke.

“No, I’m fine.” The younger spider’s voice was shaky and breathless. It was clear he was in pain. “Just turn around. I’m almost dressed.”

“All right,” Peter drawled reluctantly. After a couple of minutes, Michael allowed him to look again.

His torso was almost drowning in fabric, but the trousers fit him better, even though they were a bit loose.

“Can I check you now?” Peter asked.

Michael still hesitated. “I… I don’t want you to touch me,” he admitted.

Peter crouched down so that he was level with Michael’s face. He spoke as gently as he could muster and kept his hands away from Michael's body to ease their worry.

“Can you at least tell me what hurts?”

Michael’s face softened suddenly under his mask as if Peter said or done something that calmed him down or somehow sent him into a different headspace. He seemed almost sheepish as he pointed to his left hip, made a vague motion to his ribcage, and finally rested his hand on his head.

As he moved his hand, Peter noticed a collection of thin, white stripes--scars--drawn across his fingers. They almost reminded him of his own scars, but he pushed away the thought.

“Let me see your hip, little fella.” Peter kept his voice soft, trying his best to keep the younger spider calm. Michael scooted slightly toward him. At his confirmation, Peter ran his hands down along the skin, careful not to push down too hard. He could tell that it was fractured, but not horribly. He hoped that Michael’s healing factor would fix it mostly, but he knew there was still a chance that it would heal wrong.

Moving on, Peter gingerly brought his hands up to Michael’s torso when they were suddenly caught by Michael’s hands. The younger spider looked just as shocked as Peter felt as he sheepishly released him. “Sorry. Reflex.”

Peter moved more slowly, making sure that his new acquaintance wouldn’t do anything that could make his injuries worse. Still, Michael seemed tense as his gloved hands finally met his torso, and Peter suddenly realized why. Beneath the too-large button-up was another piece of fabric, tight against his skin. Peter was confused, but then he remembered something that Miles had told him.

 

_ “Some people don’t like their body, or feel like they were born in the wrong one,” Miles explained after Peter had questioned what “trans” meant. “Like my friend Eli. He used to be really depressed before he came out, but when he finally got a binder and changed his name, he was a lot happier.” _

 

A binder. That’s what it was. But Peter still wasn’t sure if he understood the whole “trans” thing. Should he call Michael a girl or a boy? He didn’t know how he could ask. Wracking his brain for any bit of information he could gather, Peter remembered what Miles had told him about how tight binders could be. If they were too small or on for too long, they could cause serious health problems. Peter realized what that had to mean for Michael.

“Michael, can you take off your binder, or would that be uncomfortable?” Peter felt his breath hitch under his hands. “I just need to check up on your ribs. I promise I won’t look.”

Michael suddenly seemed smaller on the couch, curling in on himself slightly. He shook his head, eyes on his mask wide.

“Please?”

Michael kept shaking his head, looking down at where Peter’s hands were. His arm twitched slightly as if he was restraining himself from throwing them off of him.

Peter finally sighed, withdrawing. “All right, I understand.” He didn’t know what he could do if Michael refused to take it off. He would probably end up bruised even worse than Peter was sure he already was. Peter sat down on the floor, his arm draped across the couch. “How’s your head?”

“Just a headache, I think. I’ll be fine,” Michael answered wearily. Peter figured that meant that he just didn’t want to be touched anymore.

The two sat in silence for a minute before Peter finally got up and moved to the kitchenette. He glanced back at Michael. Only then did he realized how feminine his body looked. His hips were just a bit too wide and shoulders just a bit too narrow to look like a male. It must have been more obvious in his suit, though Peter wasn’t paying attention when he was still wearing it. Worry spiked in his chest as he realized what the Nazi’s intentions must have been. He was glad he got there when he did.

Peter reached into a cabinet under the sink and pulled out a glass, filling it with water. As he came back to the couch, Michael pulled himself to sit up with a grunt. When he was handed the water, he lifted his mask over his nose hesitantly. Peter was sure he was eyeing him closely as he did. Then, something seemed to overtake him, and Michael downed the water in a single gulp.

_ There it is. _ Peter knew Michael would remind him of his spider friends eventually. That move was classic Peter B. A pang of longing developed in his stomach as he remembered him. It had been months since Peter had seen any of the spiders last. He had broken the portal wristband gizmo that Peni had made for him and the rest of the team to communicate with. Unfortunately, for them to visit, both sides of the portal had to be stable. He had known there was no way he could see them again. But when Michael arrived, he finally felt a flicker of hope.

Peter suddenly wondered if Michael looked anything like Peter B. like he did. Did he have his warm, light-colored eyes, or perhaps his slightly crooked nose? Maybe he was too young to have broken his nose yet. Michael certainly didn’t have Peter B.’s gut, but he did seem to have a similar muscular build. Peter stopped himself before going any further. Why would he think about that now? Besides, Michael was probably nothing like Peter B. under the mask. He had a girl’s body, after all. And comparing a child probably much younger than himself to Peter B. was something that he decidedly should not do.

“W-what?” At Michael’s voice, Peter realized he had been staring.

“Nothing. Just thinking.” He felt his face heating up behind his mask.

“You think too much,” Michael said, words slurring slightly. Peter took the empty glass from his hands as one of them fell to droop over the edge of the sofa. Was he becoming delirious? Peter brought a gloved hand to Michael’s masked forehead. Even lacking skin-to-skin contact, he could tell that he had a fever. Not a good sign.

“You should get some rest, kid,” Peter said, hiding his concern under a practiced blank expression, even though it wouldn’t show beneath his mask. As he turned away to leave him to sleep, Michael protested.

“But what if something happens while I’m asleep? I don’t want to miss my way home.”

Peter sighed. “I’ll keep watch for you, all right?”

Michael seemed doubtful, but he accepted it and slowly laid down on the couch.

“Night, kid.”

“G’night.”

Peter stalked back to his bedroom and sat heavily on the bed. If he was stuck here without the wristband gizmo, Michael probably would be too. How would he get him home? And how would he fare with the glitching? Peter laid back on the bed and closed his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t fall asleep--he still had work to do--but he didn’t want to disturb the kid. He decided he would wait a while and leave when Michael had fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

Peter’s eyes shot open.  _ What time is it? _ He quickly sat up and checked the clock on his bedside table. It had only been half an hour.

Relieved, Peter went to check on Michael. Sure enough, he was sound asleep on the couch. His body was no longer tensed up like it had been when he was awake. Instead, he was calm, almost peaceful, as he slept. Peter suddenly felt a stirring in his chest, a bubble of warmth rising within him.

_ No. _ He hadn’t felt like that since…  _ It can’t be. _ He had hardly met the kid. Hell, he didn’t even know how old he was or what he looked like. Peter swallowed hard, pushing back the warmth, the frightful fondness he felt. He would rather go back to not feeling than to feel that again.

With a sigh, Peter removed his trench coat and placed it over the sleeping figure. He wished he would have thought of supplying Michael with a blanket before he fell asleep. To Peter’s surprise, the younger spider shifted in his sleep to hold part of the coat close to his body, almost as if he found comfort--familiarity--in it. Peter almost felt himself smile. Almost.

Peter reached for his hat, then headed toward the door, sparing a glance back at Michael. He hoped he could get him back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited and revised 10/1/19)


	2. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A panic attack, and a night out on the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Self-harm  
> Stay safe, friends.

Michael awoke with a deep breath, interrupted by a shooting pain through their ribcage. They knew where they were, but they didn’t dare open their eyes. Was Peter still there? Michael shifted, suddenly aware of something heavy covering him. It smelled like gunpowder, sweat, and alcohol, but it was also quite pleasant somehow, as the scent was underlaid with a heavier, warmer smell. Something about it calmed Michael’s nerves, almost lulling them back to sleep.

_ Wait... Oh, no. _ Suddenly, Michael realized what it reminded them of. Before they knew it, their thoughts were whirling in their head at a hundred miles per hour. They snapped their eyes open, chest heaving painfully as they tried to sit up and throw off the object, which they realized was Peter’s coat. Michael was even more overwhelmed as they strained to take in their monochrome surroundings. They felt their body tense up as their hands flew to their mask, instinctively trying to pull at their hair.

_ It's not him! _ Michael tried to rationalize. But their thoughts wouldn't listen. Their forearms started tingling, and their mind started repeating a single mantra:  _ No. No. No. No. No. _

Michael stumbled away from the couch, almost falling to the floor when they put weight on their fractured hip.  _ No. No. No. No. _

Before they knew it, they had reached the bathroom, hardly stopping to observe the new space.  _ No. No. No. No. _ Michael nearly slammed the door, unable to control it as they threw one of their arms heavily to close it.

_ No. No. No. No! _ The mantra in their head repeated more intensely, drowning out everything else as they scavenged the cabinets and drawers for something--anything--that would put a stop to that horrible itching in their arms.  _ No! No! No! No! No! _

Finally, they found something sharp and silver. A razor. Their body began to shake as they caught their own eyes in the mirror before them. They could hardly see themself as a person. Their brain was too muddy to differentiate. All they could hear was the deafening screaming, and all they could feel was that unbearable itching

Michael fumbled with the buttons on their shirt, tossing it against a wall. They didn’t look in the mirror again. They couldn’t.

 

* * *

 

When Peter came home, it was almost five in the morning.

_ Another night’s work completed, _ he had thought to himself before passing out on his bed, not bothering to take off his clothes. When he awoke, it was with a start. Someone was moving around in his apartment. He almost reached for his gun when he remembered rescuing Michael the night before.

Peter watched him stumble to the bathroom and slam the door. He would have helped him if he had awoken sooner. Peter listened as the younger spider threw something against the wall and opened and closed drawers. He knew he was probably in shock after waking up in a strange place. He figured he would just need to get his bearings. Suddenly, the apartment went quiet to his human senses. If Peter had been normal, he would have assumed Michael had simply calmed down, but his spider senses told him otherwise. Under the thick silence of the apartment, Peter could hear a quiet  _ scritch! Scritch! _ He knew immediately what that had to mean.

Flying up from the bed, Peter rushed to the door. He narrowly stopped himself from bursting in, mustering up just enough self-control to knock quietly on the door. He could feel Michael freeze behind the door.

“Everything okay in there, kid?” He was answered with a quiet shuffling. “Michael?”

“I’m fine,” came a voice behind the door, hoarse and confused. Peter sighed and went to sit on the couch. He never would have guessed something like this would happen. The other spiders had been so happy and lively. He didn’t think he would have to worry about this.

Peter rested his face in his palms, realizing he wasn’t wearing his glasses. No wonder he couldn’t see a thing. Hearing the sink turn on in the bathroom, he went to put them on before deciding to put on his mask and goggles instead. He didn’t want to startle Michael with a new face. The door opened behind him, and Michael, obviously shaken, stepped out cautiously. His dark-colored mask was slightly displaced as if he had taken it off and pulled it back on quickly. Behind him, Peter caught a glimpse of color. It was bright like Peter B.’s suit, but something about the way it was splattered on the floor made Peter feel anxious.

“‘Morning,” Peter offered, pushing back his feelings. Michael mumbled an unintelligible response before stumbling back over to the couch, his body slumping and his arms curling around his torso.

“How do you feel?”

“Meh.” Michael’s voice was strained. Peter wasn’t sure what he could do. He knew he couldn’t ask to check on Michael’s wounds now.

“Has your healing kicked in yet?” Peter asked.

“A little bit.”

An awkward silence ensued.

“Don’t you have somewhere to go or something?” Michael asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you have a job or something?” He lowered his head, adjusting his mask. “It’s kinda weird for someone who lives in the 1930s to not try to make money, especially if you’re Spider-Man.” Peter was taken aback. Of course, he had a job, but not everyone could find one. In fact, he’d had to make his own after what happened to his employer.

“Oh. Well, I’m a private eye.”

“What’s that?”

“A personal investigator. A detective, if you will.” For the first time, Michael seemed to smile beneath his mask.

“So, you’re Spider-Man in the daytime too? Nice.”

“I guess you could say that.” Michael was starting to remind Peter of his younger spider friends. At least that meant he was feeling better.

 

* * *

 

It had been a long day after Peter left to go to his office. He had assured Michael that it was fine if he was late--people usually just left phone numbers on his desk--but Michael insisted that he leave. So, Peter insisted that they eat something. Michael was reluctant, sure that it was all he had, but they finally gave in.

As soon as they ate, Michael felt their healing ability start to kick in. It wasn’t painful, but it certainly wasn’t enjoyable. Feeling their insides move was something they were sure they’d never get used to. However, they felt better, their ribs and hip knitting back to their original shape.

Rolling up their sleeves, Michael saw that the cuts they had left on themself were healing too. That was the one thing about their healing ability that they weren’t grateful for. They wanted their cuts to stay for longer, so they usually tried to starve themself before and after putting them there. But as soon as they ate again, all that was left was a collection of raised pink scars.

Michael tried to go back to sleep after Peter left, but their mind was racing. How would they get home? Could they really trust this other Spider-Man? Were there  _ other _ other Spider-Men?

They let their thoughts get away with them as they laid on the couch, bored out of their mind, and started wondering about Peter. How did he manage to keep the city safe with such little food? He was so skinny. It almost concerned Michael. And why did he only patrol at night? What an odd habit. Maybe it was too dangerous during the day.

_ Or maybe it’s too dangerous at night, _ Michael thought.

Boredom finally overtook them, and they decided to scavenge the apartment. They found nothing unusual; everything seemed to be normal enough, despite being black and white. Then, something colorful on the table beside Peter’s bed caught Michael’s eye. It was a Rubyx Cube, strangely out of place in both the monochrome universe and the time period. It seemed to be almost solved sans for two sides. That had to mean that Peter had been to other dimensions, or at least that someone from another dimension had visited him. What else did he know?

Suddenly, Michael heard someone fiddling with the lock on the door. They nearly jumped out of their skin. Soon, they calmed down when they saw the now-familiar sight of Peter’s bulky silver goggles.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted them. “I see you found my cube.”

“Uh, yeah.” Michael felt themself blushing under their mask. They knew they shouldn’t have been snooping. At least Peter didn’t seem angry. “Where’d you get it?”

“I picked it up in another dimension,” he replied simply as if that explained everything. “How are ya feelin’?”

“Better. I think my ribs are mostly healed now.” Michael stretched their arms over their head lazily.

“Are you feeling good enough to take a look around the city?”

Michael stared at Peter for a moment, stunned. Where had that come from? Of course, they would take him up on the offer. “Yeah, sure.” Peter motioned toward the door he had just entered. “Hold on, let me put on my suit first.”

 

* * *

 

Michael and Peter crouched atop a building, overlooking the city. Unlike Michael’s own dimension, it was duller, but somehow still breathtaking. Michael had never been to New York before; they could only imagine what it would look like in color, let alone in the twenty-first century.

They cast a glance over to Peter, whose goggle-covered eyes were fixed somewhere down below on the street. The city was relatively quiet tonight, Michael supposed. There wasn’t a trace of crime anywhere.

“So, you come here often?” They broke the silence that had ensued with a devilish smile that crinkled their mask. Peter seemed startled as if he had forgotten Michael was there.

“Every night,” he answered simply, not looking up from whatever he was fixated on.

“Only at night?”

Peter nodded. “I come out after sunset and go to bed in the morning.”

“Well, it sounds like you’re a member of the Midnight Crew,” Michael laughed. Peter finally met their eyes.

“What?”

“It’s an old song. You probably wouldn’t know it.” They sat back on their haunches and curled their arms around their legs comfortably.

“Can you sing it for me?” Michael looked back up at Peter. He was leaning toward them now, goggles like a pair of silver voids. They could almost imagine his eyes behind them sparkling with some sort of emotion that they weren’t sure they could name.

“Uh, sure.” They cleared their throat nervously. They were a high soprano, clearly cutting through the facade of their deepened voice. But what did it matter, anyway? Peter already knew their secret.

 

_ “I hate a moral coward, one who lacks a manly spark. _

_ I just detest a man afraid to go home in the dark.” _

 

Michael saw Peter’s mouth twitch slightly beneath his mask. Were they really that bad? They paused, but Peter was still looking at them expectantly, so they kept singing.

 

_ “I always spend my evenings where there’s women, wine, and song, _

_ But like a man, I always bring my little wife along." _

 

At the beginning of the chorus, a voice joined them: a high tenor picking out the harmony.

 

_ “I’m a member of the Midnight Crew. _

_ I’m a night owl and a wise bird, too. _

_ Home with the milk in the morning _

_ Singing the same old song.” _

Their voices blended like two streams coming together as they sang quietly, barely audible over the late-night breeze. Their eyes remained locked behind their masks as their lips moved in sync.

 

_ “Rise with the moon, go to bed with the sun; _

_ Early to bed and you’ll miss all the fun. _

_ Bring your wife and trouble: it will never trouble you. _

_ Make her a member of the Midnight Crew.” _

 

As the chorus came to an end, Michael became aware of a flutter in their stomach, rising up to their chest. A growing warmth spread across their face as they noticed what seemed to be a small smile behind Peter’s mask. Michael cast their eyes downward in embarrassment.

“You’re quite the canary,” Peter said. That only made Michael blush more.

“Thanks.”

“My aunt May used to have a record of that song,” he continued. “It was one of my favorites when I was younger.”

“Y-yeah,” Michael stuttered. Peter actually had a nice voice. The fluttering in their guts remained stubborn, a fogginess gathering in their head as they glanced up at him. He was overlooking the city once again, coat fluttering in the wind. Michael had a feeling it would be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "I'm A Member of the Midnight Crew" by Eddie Morton.  
> It just kind of sounds like a Noir thing to me, I guess lol.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (Edited and revised 10/2/19)


	3. Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael doesn't like thinking about his past. Physical triggers are even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: panic attack; badly-written dialogue XD

Peter slid open the window to his apartment and allowed Michael to climb inside before him. There had been almost no villains on the street that night, let alone any Nazis. He figured one group or the other was plotting something, but he didn’t want to put Michael in danger by going to find them. He might have already recovered for the most part, but he still seemed young. Peter wouldn’t want to put Miles, Gwen, or Peni in a situation like that either. He knew how dangerous it could be -- far more so than any of the others’ dimensions, despite what the other spiders thought. It wasn't safe for them.

Peter’s feet were finally grounded as he hung up his hat and began peeling off his coat. He felt Michael’s glare burn into his back. Was he doing something odd? He couldn't fathom that taking off a coat was uncommon in Michael's universe.

Turning to face the younger spider, Peter saw the almost-baffled look behind his mask. Was there something wrong with his clothes? He suddenly felt embarrassed as he put his coat on the coathanger, but he kept his face blank, a skill he had practiced over quite a few years. He elected to ignore Michael’s stare and planted himself on the couch, the younger spider soon following wordlessly. He knew that he was still staring.

“What?” Peter asked at last. Michael seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, his eyebrows knitting behind his mask.

“Oh. Nothing.” He squirmed uncomfortably on the couch, eyebrows knitted under his mask, as the room became silent. Finally, Peter broke it out of courtesy.

“So, what’s your dimension like?”

“Well… it’s in the future, I guess.” Michael had trouble grasping the words he wanted to use. “There’s more technology and all that. Portable phones.”

“What’re the people like?” Peter wanted to keep him talking just so he didn’t have to bear the silence that he sensed bothered Michael more than him.

“More freedom of speech… less clothes.” Michael giggled slightly. “People are really aggressive, I guess.” Peter kept a blank face as Michael continued. “Bad guys have more dangerous weapons than you’re probably used to. And they don’t let up.” His voice trailed off.

“What’s on your mind, kid?” Peter asked. He knew that voice: the voice of someone who had been through something they would like to forget. The eyes on Michael’s mask widened.

“Nothing important. I just don’t like thinking about it.”

“That I understand.” Peter brought his hand to the younger spider’s shoulder. Suddenly, Michael stiffened under him and stopped breathing. He started to shake.

“Michael?” Realizing what he had done, Peter released Michael’s shoulder, but Michael was still shaking, and he brought his hands to his face. He started to breathe again, but it was ragged and shallow. He started to tug at his mask but didn’t pull it off.

_ Damnit! _ He should have known not to touch them so suddenly after what happened that morning.

“Michael, can you hear me?”

Michael pulled his legs up toward his chest and shrank into the couch. When Peter reached out again instinctively, he flinched, mouth gaping under his mask in a silent scream.

Peter pulled back again, more nervous than the first time. Of course he had hurt him. He was a monster. A freak. God, he hated himself. But that wasn’t important at the moment.

“Michael? Can you speak?” Peter said carefully. He didn’t want to risk touching him and scaring him again.

Michael shook his head slightly, just enough for Peter to see. Peter took in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He knew he could handle it. It would be like comforting Peni, right? That is, without the hugs that she always requested. Still, he hesitated.

“It's all right. I won't hurt you."

Michael's response was minimal. What else could he do?

"Can I get you anything? Water? A blanket?” Peter offered. Michael shook his head again. As much as he had thought he could handle it, Peter was out of ideas. “Do you want me to leave?”

Michael didn’t respond. No head-shake. Was he afraid to let Peter leave his sight?

“I’ll be in the bedroom, all right? Call me if you need anything.” As Peter rose to his feet, Michael started to shake harder, his hands grabbing at his face, which was frozen in a look of sheer horror, visible even under the mask. A sound escaped his mouth that almost sounded like a mewl.

Peter stopped at the sound. He didn’t know why, but it made him feel like he needed to stay. He sat back down on the couch carefully, keeping his hands as far from Michael as he could to keep from scaring him.

“I’m here if you need me,” he said simply. There was nothing else to say.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before the sun began to rise. Michael’s shaking had lessened, and he seemed to be calming down. His breathing was low and deep as he began to slump against the couch. Eyes closing, Michael began to lean to the side in exhaustion with his arms still loosely crossed against his chest defensively. As Michael hit the couch, he let out a helpless whine.

Peter, awoken from his thoughts, moved over toward him, hoping he could comfort him somehow now that he was calmer.

To his surprise, Michael reached out his hands and scooted toward him, laying his head on Peter’s lap and curling around his nearest leg. Peter wasn’t sure how he felt. It wasn’t unpleasant to have him on his lap, but what would Peter B. think? He brushed off the thought, realizing it probably meant nothing. Besides, Michael was too young for him, right? He was probably only twelve--thirteen at the most. Peter decided that it wasn’t too bad. At least now they could both get some sleep.

Suddenly, Michael shifted, his mask drawing up slightly to reveal a bit of his skin, just between the collar and neck. He didn’t seem to notice, as his eyes remained closed. Peter caught a glance of a sort of discoloration on his skin. He figured it must be a bruise.  _ An awful big one. _

The color spread over a rather large expanse of his skin, a dark, blotchy cloud of something. Blue? No, not quite. What an odd place to get hurt. Had the Nazi punched him?

Before he could study it further, Michael moved once again, and the skin was covered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I am trying hard to make Peter seem kind of in-character but I know I suck at that so oh well lol. I will gladly take critiques.  
> I know this chapter was kind of short, but I will work on making future ones longer.
> 
> (Edited and revised 10/2/19)


	4. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is worried that Michael doesn't want to be friends with him, but Michael is more comfortable with him than he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I'm still recovering from the school year. Hopefully I'll update more frequently, though, now that I am fleshing out the plot.

Michael shifted on the couch sleepily. Had they fallen asleep on top of something? They didn’t recall being given a blanket or pillow. Opening their eyes, they realized their head was on the lap of none other than the mysterious Peter Parker.

Craning their neck slightly, Michael glanced up at the tall figure. His narrow chest rose and fell peacefully, and his head leaned on the back of the couch. He was soundly asleep, but his mask was still on. _Does he ever take it off?_ Michael wondered. They decided it was probably because they were there. Peter was probably still not comfortable enough with them to reveal his face. _But,_ Michael realized. _I am._

Michael had been afraid of the familiarity of Peter’s scent: it reminded them of someone they used to know. But laying on his lap, they were becoming aware of the subtle differences in not only his scent but the way he treated them. Peter didn’t try to grab them or push them into doing things they didn’t want to. He had asked permission before touching them. Then again, it always started like that, didn’t it? A man would say they would care for you and comfort you, but in the end, their motivation is purely selfish.

 

* * *

 

When Peter awoke, Michael was no longer on his lap. He had moved to the other side on the couch, half-dangling off, but somehow still seeming rather comfortable. Peter swallowed down the disappointment rising in his stomach. It didn’t matter that Michael didn’t want to sleep near him. He had Peter B.

Taking a deep breath, he smiled as he recognized the resemblance Michael held with Peni. She also had a tendency to sleep in odd positions that Peter was sure couldn’t be comfortable for anyone else. Michael had to be around her age, right? She was only fourteen. Peter couldn’t imagine being romantically interested in anyone who was younger than him by more than a year.

When Peter moved to stand, Michael stirred. At first, it was just his breathing that told Peter he was awake, but then he shifted slightly and slid off the couch onto the floor with an “oof!” Peter almost laughed.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Michael groaned held up a lazy thumbs-up.

 _Just like Peni._ Noir smiled. “You need help?”

Michael shook his head and pushed himself up and back onto the couch with a sigh.

“How did you sleep?”

Michael looked up at Peter in a way that made him wonder when the last time someone asked that question was.

“Fine.” Michael paused. “What time is it?”

“About ten.”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  
Peter sighed. Why was he so insistent on that? “I told you, kid, I don’t need to be there.”

“But don’t you need the money?”

  
“I can go to work later.”

“What about your family? Don’t you need to provide for them?”

  
Peter was taken aback. His family? He pushed back a flood of memories, but the haunting image of the remainder of his uncle’s body managed to surface, once again shaking him to the core.

Michael seemed to realize something was wrong. “You have a family, don’t you?”

“I haven’t had a family for quite a while now,” Peter said finally. “I fend for myself.”

“But don’t you have any friends?”

Peter sighed. “I did.”

“What happened to them?” Michael scooted closer to him on the couch.

“They’re from other dimensions,” Peter explained. “I could see them using this gizmo.” He fiddled with the broken watch on his wrist. Peni had made a black one just for him so that it wouldn’t stand out in his dimension. “But I broke it during a fight.”

“Well, I’m from another dimension. Maybe I can help you see them again,” Michael offered, but Peter shook his head.

“Unless you can fix this thing, I think we’re both stuck here.” Peter slumped against the couch, resigned.

“At least you’re not alone anymore,” Michael said.

Before Peter knew it, the younger spider was leaning on his shoulder. Once again, he felt that warm fluttering in his chest. He loathed himself for feeling, for being vulnerable like this when he hardly knew Michael. The only thing he could think of was how the others he had loved had gotten hurt. Everywhere he left even a trace, someone got hurt. And then they left him.

Peter didn’t even know if Michael trusted him, let alone felt the same way. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but something inside him tugged at the question, making it irresistible.

“Michael, do you trust me?”

Michael turned to Peter, wide-eyed. “I…” he started. Peter felt his stomach sink. “I don’t know.”

Peter tried not to feel disappointed. It had only been a couple of days. But he was a Spider-Man, too. That had to count for _something_ , right? But if Michael were to ever find out the things he had done—the unspeakable things—it would all be over.

Peter was just about to forget all hope of becoming more than just acquaintances when Michael slid his hands under his mask and pulled it off.

Peter’s eyes widened, taking in the new burst of color — Michael’s face the same light tone as his arms, but overlayed with a soft shimmer of a darker color. His eyes were, indeed, the same warm color as Peter B.’s. Peter continued to stare as Michael pulled what seemed to be a hair cap off his head, allowing his shoulder-length hair to pool around his neck. It was the same color as Peter B.’s hair, Peter noted fondly. However, Michael’s nose was nothing close to Peter B.’s, or even Peter’s own. The slope of it was softer, less ragged, and it came to a smooth point.

Yes, Michael’s face was somewhat feminine, but his strong jawline gave the effect that he was neither male nor female. But the hair, although being rather wavy and disheveled, completely gave it away.

But something struck Peter that surprised him the most. Something about his facial features being a little bit sharper than he had expected, a little more defined. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They told a story that someone of Peni or Miles’ age could never tell.

“How old are you?” Peter finally gathered the words to ask.

Michael’s face turned a darker color. Was he blushing? “Sixteen.” He glanced down, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Peter’s heart flipped in his chest. He was only a year younger than him. Maybe he did have a chance.

 

* * *

 

Michael couldn’t believe that they actually did it. They took off their mask. And Peter was looking at them so intently that they almost regretted it. When he asked how old they were, they were surprised. Maybe Peter was confused because he was so much older? His voice told them that he must be at least twenty. But Michael could handle themself in their own world. They were a good Spider-Man. They didn’t want Peter worrying about them just because they were a teenager.

“I know what you’re thinking. I can handle myself. I don’t need you to look after me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Peter replied quickly. “I mean, we’re about the same age.” Michael was relieved, but the tone of Peter’s voice held a certain emotion that they couldn’t place.

“How long have you been Spider-Man?” Michael asked.

“Not long.”

 _Well, that was vague._ “Like a couple days?”

Peter laughed, a deep, hearty sound like none other that Michael had heard before. “No, about a year.”

“Me too.” Michael still remembered when they were bitten by that spider. When they started to get powers, they were so relieved. Not in the sense that they thought they would die, but in the sense that they could finally defend themself. The couple years before had been rough.

Pushing away the thought as they had many times before, Michael stretched, raising their arms above their head. Their ribs didn’t hurt at all.

“Michael…”

Their eyes met Peter’s face. His voice was worried.

“Your arms.”

Michael immediately lowered them, the blood draining out of their face. “Oh, god.” Their hands flew to their mouth. “Peter, I…” Michael’s voice caught in their throat.

“Michael, it’s all right. I know it’s hard, but I want to help you.”

Dread rose through Michael’s body, pooling in their throat and stinging their eyes as words spilled out of their mouth. “I-I can’t control it! Every time, I feel like I’m losing my mind and I can’t—“

“Michael, I don’t blame you.” Michael stopped.

“You… You don’t?”

“It’s not your fault. It ain’t easy doing this when everything’s on you. You’re not the only one who’s done it.” Michael’s eyes widened, suddenly searching Peter’s goggles for any hint of what that could mean. _He_ couldn’t have done it, could he?

“Peter…”

“It’s okay. I promise. Let me help you.”

Michael hesitated but finally nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Face reveal! I'm doing my best at describing stuff, lol.  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is getting sick. Peter is getting worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a new chapter already! Not that anyone reads this. XD  
> I'm just on a roll recently, so I'll probably update as soon as I get chapters finished.
> 
> Trigger warning:  
> Nightmares, mentions of past rape/non-con, mild swearing

Peter sat on the couch, pondering as he shifted the sides of his cube. He still hadn’t managed to figure out how to solve it, but Peter Porker, or Ham, as the rest of the spiders called him, had shown him what some of the colors were. Of course, he automatically recognized the white tiles, but now he could name the color that was a bit off from it —  _ Yellow  _ — and a different color that was much darker —  _ Blue.  _ Both the white and yellow sides were solved already, but he couldn’t seem to get the blue side or the side that was the color or Peter B.’s suit.

Letting his thoughts wander, Peter began to worry. It had been almost a week, and there were still no signs of portals or any other kind of odd scientific phenomenon. Peter was losing hope, and to make things worse, Michael was getting sick. In his dimension, if you got sick, you died. Only the wealthy survived. Only the wealthy could get real healthcare. He might be able to get him to a doctor, but Peter knew that a prescription would only make it worse.

Peter let his face fall into his hands. He just met the kid and now he was going to die. He said he would get him home…

A figure stumbled into the room. “Hey Peter,” the hoarse voice said.

Peter looked up. Michael’s borrowed clothes were wrinkled, and he looked like he was about to fall over. “How’re you feeling?”

“Meh.” Michael took a wobbly step toward Peter, but before he could get far he lost his balance, arms flailing for something to hold onto.

Peter’s spider sense twitched in the back of his head, and Michael didn’t even have time to get halfway to the ground. Peter shot up from the couch and caught him. For a second, he was limp in Peter’s hands, hardly having time to react to what had just happened. Despite being well-muscled, Michael weighed almost nothing to him. He couldn’t tell if he was usually that light or if he had lost weight from staying in his world for too long. Either way, it only made him worry more.

When Michael started to squirm, Peter let him go, almost dropping him to the ground as he snapped out of his thoughts. Peter’s breath caught when Michael steadied himself using his chest. Compared to him, Michael was so small. It was endearing, Peter decided.

Plopping on the couch, Michael spread out and stretched his legs before curling in on himself with a pained face.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his torso. “My stomach hurts.”

“Let me get you some water.” Peter moved to go to the sink, but before he could take a step, Michael’s eyes snapped open and his hand flew to his mouth. He stumbled to his feet and took a few steps, making a sort of muffled coughing noise behind his hand.

Peter moved to help him, but Michael was already on his knees, leaning over the floor in a coughing fit. Peter kneeled beside him, rubbing his back softly as he vomited out what little was in his stomach.

Peter wasn’t disgusted. He had seen—and smelled—much worse. When Michael finally stopped heaving, he collapsed on the floor, and Peter went to retrieve a towel.

When he finished cleaning up, Michael had fallen asleep on the floor.

_ Poor fella. _ He was probably exhausted. Peter needed to get him some food and medical assistance, but he knew he couldn’t take him anywhere. He was in color, after all.

Peter scooped up the sleeping figure and laid him on the couch. He figured he should get some sleep, too, but what if Michael woke up? He might need something. So Peter sat back on the couch with his cube, fiddling with it in silence once again.

 

* * *

 

Peter awoke with a start. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Gathering his bearings, he glanced over to Michael. He seemed to be asleep, but strange noises were coming from his mouth: odd mutterings that he couldn’t understand.

As quietly as possible, Peter moved to Michael’s side and placed a gloved hand on his forehead. He was burning up. That was a bad sign. However, Peter figured he should let him sleep. Maybe rest would help him feel better.

Peter returned to his place on the couch, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned his head back and stretched out his long, spider-like legs. He almost dozed off once again, but Michael’s strange muttering grew louder.

Looking over at him, Peter saw his head jerking back and forth as if he were struggling against something. “N… no. Plea…” It was quiet at first, but Peter could finally understand it.

“Please,” Michael murmured, louder this time.

_ Please what? _ Peter wondered. What could he be dreaming about? Peter sat up and approached the squirming figure. Michael was curling in on himself, becoming small against the couch.

His words became louder still: cries for help, for  _ mercy _ .

Peter’s stomach lurched as Michael began to scream. “Michael,” he said, hoping to wake him from his nightmare, but Michael didn’t respond and only continued to cry out.

“I said no! Ple-please!” Michael’s voice broke. “Please, I don’t want to!”

_ What could he be dreaming about? _ Peter wondered in horror. “Michael, wake up!” He gripped Michael’s shoulders and shook him lightly, doing his best not to hurt him.

Finally, Michael sat up, but he kept whimpering. He still wasn’t awake. “Michael!”

The younger spider flinched away from Peter, curling away from his touch. “Noah, please! Stop!”

_ Noah? _

“Plea-” Michael’s voice cut off by a sob. Tears rolled down his agonized face as he kicked out at Peter with his knees.

“Michael.” Their thrashing only became worse, their body pushing him away as if he were attacking him.

“ _ Michael! _ ” Peter managed, fighting the younger spider’s weak kicks. “It’s Peter. You’re safe.”

Michael’s eyes flickered open, more tears gathering in them. “P-Peter?”

To Peter’s surprise, Michael nearly threw himself against his body, chest heaving as he cried. Peter hesitantly wrapped his arms around him, and he sank even further into his chest, almost fully engulfed in Peter’s oversized coat.

After a few minutes, Michael’s sobs mostly subsided, Peter still holding him close.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked softly.

Michael raised his head from Peter’s chest. He seemed so small and vulnerable. Peter felt like he would protect him with his life.

Wiping his eyes, Michael started to speak. His voice was shaky and hoarse, and his eyes told Peter that he was tired of telling the same story over and over again. “I… I was dating a guy. And he was so sweet at first, and he actually paid attention to me.” He sniffed.

“For the first few weeks, it was great, but he wanted more and more and  _ more. _ ” Fresh tears pooled in Michael’s eyes, and he sucked in a ragged breath in an attempt to calm himself down. “He… he…” His voice trailed off as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“He what, Michael?” Peter prompted as gently as he could muster, fighting the boiling anger in his chest. “What did he do to you?”

Tears spilled down Michael’s neck as he tried unsuccessfully to choke back a sob. His arms wrapped around his body protectively. His voice was hardly a whimper. “He raped me.”

Peter’s mind was reeling. Of all things. Of all  _ goddamn  _ things. That would really mess up a person’s head. No wonder Michael was so distrusting. A stranger, and a male one at that, could be unpredictable.

“I thought it was okay at first,” Michael continued quietly. “It didn’t matter because he was my boyfriend and I loved him, but he never  _ listened _ when I told him no.” Michael began subconsciously grabbing at their shirt. “I told him  _ no, _ Peter, I said  _ no. _ ” Michael’s eyes were desperate as if he thought Peter wouldn’t believe him.

Peter met his gaze with horror. Of course, he believed him. Why would someone lie about such a thing?

“I thought it was okay,” Michael said quietly. “I thought it was okay because he said it was only me. He said that he would never do anything like that with someone else.”

Suddenly, his eyes darkened. “But he  _ lied! _ ”

Peter could only listen in silent horror as Michael went on and on.

“He  _ lied _ , Peter! He hurt one of my friends, too. Now she won’t talk to me.” Michael shook his head in exasperation.

“And every day,  _ every goddamn day _ , I have to see him and the friends he  _ lied _ to to get them on his side.” His voice was filled with venom and he spat out each word. “They all  _ abandoned _ me. I’m alone.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. The pieces were finally in place. The scars made sense.

“But I loved him.” Michael’s voice was quiet once again, filled with defeat and pain. He looked up into Peter’s goggles, not quite meeting his eyes—probably because he couldn’t see them. “I know what it’s like to be afraid of the one I love. I never want to feel like that again.”

Peter realized that there was nothing he  _ could _ say. No amount of consoling could fix something like that. His eyes traced over Michael’s figure, which was slumped against the couch, his head down once again. He looked broken. If only he could pull those pieces back together.

Peter pulled Michael against his chest, and he allowed himself to sink against him. Peter knew he couldn’t offer much, so he gave all he had.

Michael released a ragged breath, the tension in his body fading against Peter’s embrace. Peter didn’t say a word, but he hoped that Michael could feel the meaning behind his actions.

_ I’m here for you. No matter what. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, it's all centered around Michael and their annoying panic attacks. I know it's kind of getting old, but never fear: the next chapter will have the Spider Fam in it!!!  
> It might be a bit ooc, but I'll try my best.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Please leave kudos and comments. They keep me writing.


	6. Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is getting worse, and then, there's a knock at the door.

“Hey, Peter,” called a hoarse voice. Peter looked up from the newspaper he was reading. It consisted of the usual headlines: people starving, people disappearing, new scientific discoveries that were without a doubt the cause of the former two. He would have to track down whoever was behind it later, but not tonight.

It had been a couple more days since Michael had gotten sick, and his condition only seemed to get worse.

Michael hobbled into Peter’s bedroom, bracing himself on the doorframe. He must be dizzy again, Peter figured. Although he stood out against the monochrome apartment, Michael seemed small in the midst of all of it. He was almost frail.

“My head hurts again.” Michael pointed to his temple with a shaking hand. “Right he—“ He was cut off by a violent coughing fit. Peter stood from his bed, crouching next to Michael, who was doubled over on the floor, his ribs spasming as he gasped for air. Suddenly, a splash of color spilled from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Cough after cough, more color splashed onto Michael’s white shirt and onto the floor and began dripping out his nose. Tears gathered in his scrunched-closed eyes and fell down his cheeks.

Peter knew what that color was. It was the same one that he had seen on the floor in his bathroom after Michael had come out of it the first morning. It was the same color he had seen on Peter B. and Miles’ suits.

When Michael finally opened his eyes, they were filled with pain and exhaustion. He looked down at the color and then up at Peter, fear stretching across his face.

“Here, let me help you.” Peter swept Michael into his arms and placed him as gently as he could onto the bed. Michael immediately curled in on himself, and Peter placed the back of his hand on his forehead. His fever was getting worse.

“You should sleep here tonight.”

Michael looked up at him with questioning eyes. Peter sensed what he meant.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Michael’s eyes sparkled with some sort of emotion that Peter couldn’t place, but he didn’t speak. That was good. He shouldn’t strain himself. But what did he want to say?

Peter sighed.

“Michael, we need to get you back home.”

 

* * *

 

Warmth surrounded Michael as they lay on the bed. Something was holding him. Some _ one _ , they realized.

“Peter?” Turning their head, there he was. He had stayed. Michael smiled, Peter’s scent enveloped them as they relaxed in his embrace. But something was off. Peter was wearing his usual turtleneck and leather vest, but he was missing something. Ah! His mask.

But still, it was odd. His face was fuzzy, distorted. Michael couldn’t get a clear look at it. It was as if it wasn’t his face at all.

_ It’s not, _ Michael realized.  _ This is just a dream. _

Their eyes flickered open, and Peter was gone. It was just Michael. They almost sighed.

They stared up at the ceiling for a while before Peter — the real Peter — crept into the room.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He said, dull surprise in his voice as he rubbed his neck with a gloved hand. It was clear he hadn’t gone to sleep like he said he would.

Michael sat up on the bed, feeling sleepy but better than they had earlier. “What’s up?” they croaked.

Peter’s voice held a sense of urgency that they hadn’t been expecting. “We need to go. Now.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Michael rubbed their eyes, suddenly awake.

“I need to get you to a doctor.” Peter fidgeted with his gloves. Michael relaxed once again.

“Are you sure? I don’t think that would be a great idea.”

“But it’s our only option. You’re getting worse.” Peter’s usually unemotional voice was laced with concern. Michael sighed.

“At this hour in the night?”

“I can’t go out in uniform in the daylight.”

“All right, let’s go.”

Peter helped Michael out of bed and to the bathroom to put on their suit before gathering his coat and hat.

They were almost out the window when suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

 

* * *

 

Peter B. Parker sat alone in his apartment, as usual. Lazily raising his wrist, he glanced at his dimensional transporter wristband—or his “goober,” as he called it. No notifications. It had been months since he had heard from his boyfriend, but it felt like years. He had spent that time worrying about him. Had he gotten hurt? Or worse, killed? He was probably just busy, Peter would tell himself.

_ Or maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. _ Thinking of his current relationship turning out like his last made him feel uneasy.  _ He didn’t even say goodbye. _

Peter had asked the other spiders if they had heard from him, and the answer was no from everyone. At the same time, it made him feel better and worse. That had to mean that he was unable to talk to everyone, not just him. But then again, that might be worse than if it had only been him. Peter Benjamin Parker had been known to isolate himself from time to time, but he would always come around when the spiders tried to contact him. Often, he just needed to be reassured that he was loved. But he hadn’t responded to any of the spiders’ texts, not even Peter’s or Peni’s. There had to be something terribly wrong.

Peter wanted to cry. The apartment felt so much bigger without his boyfriend. Even though he didn’t say much unless prompted, his company was always appreciated, and his presence was always welcome. Peter longed for the nights when he would wake up to his watch beeping and a disheveled monochrome figure on the other side of the portal needing a first aid kit and a hug after a rough fight. But, that hadn’t happened since late January. It was June. And he was alone.

 

* * *

 

“And… Done!” Peni announced, making an exaggerated gesture of pride. The spiders had all decided to meet up in the shed at Aunt May’s house in Miles’ universe to try to find Peter. Somehow, however, the only time that worked for all of them was two in the morning due to the kids’ crazy school schedules and dimensional time differentiation.

Gwen and Peni had developed a plan to trace the path of the random portals that had been appearing across all of their dimensions. Somehow the portals had been wreaking more havoc than the ones that brought the spiders together in the first place. All of them had been working overtime to keep their dimensions safe, but with a little teamwork, they were able to keep it under control.

Peter B. watched as Gwen peered over Peni’s shoulder at the goober in her hand. On its screen blinked bright yellow with an odd map-like picture, numbers flashing and changing in the margins.

_ He would love this, _ Peter thought. He knew his boyfriend loved the technology in the other spiders’ universes, even though he didn’t fully understand it. He was such a quick learner, though, and he was always excited to see new gadgets and programs. Every so often, he was found fiddling with the TV in Peter’s apartment, just trying to understand what all the wires and buttons and plug-ins were for.

“All right, let’s sync it to the rest of ours,” Gwen said, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. Peni tapped on the screen, and a series of beeps rang across the basement, startling Peter Porker, who had been taking a nap, cartoonish Zs floating from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ! Warn a pig, would ya?”

Peter B. laughed as Ham scolded the girls.

“Sorry, Ham,” Peni giggled. “But we finished setting it up! Now, we can find Peter.”

“How do you know it’ll work?” Miles asked, fiddling with the new software on his goober. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.”  
“Trust us, kid. If Peni and Gwen made it, it’ll work.” Peter B. put a hand on the younger spider’s shoulder, smiling fondly at the girls. Miles had learned a lot about being Spider-Man, but he still hadn’t quite mastered the technological genius that the rest of the spiders seemed to naturally have. Suddenly, another round of beeps sounded throughout the basement.

“A portal’s opening to Peter’s dimension!” Gwen announced. “We all have to sync our watches to it at the same time for it to work.”

“On my mark,” Peni called as the spiders pulled on their masks and prepared to press the buttons that had appeared on the screens of their watches.

“One… two… three!”

There was a blur of light and shapes, and before Peter could make sense of what happened, the spiders were on the hard, damp pavement of a monochrome street. Peter had been to the black and white dimension many times, but never at night. Somehow, it seemed even more dangerous than usual, the dark shrouding his vision. Lifting his head with a groan, Peter took a deep breath as a cool gust of air swept the pavement. As always, the wind smelled like rain.

“All right, team,” Peter said, rising painstakingly to his feet. “Follow me. This way.”

Picking their way through the dull streets, the spiders finally arrived at an apartment building.

“This is it,” Peter stated as he opened the door casually.

“Are you sure?” Miles asked. “It looks just like the one next to it. And the one next to that one.”

“I’ve been here a few times.”

After walking up a few flights of stairs and down a short hallway, they were facing the door to the apartment. But Peter hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” Gwen asked. “Just knock!”

Peter took a deep breath and sighed, but apparently, he was taking too long because Ham pushed him aside and stretched up a comically long arm to knock on the door.

There was a muffled shuffling inside the apartment and something that sounded like a window closing and some sort of muttering. Suddenly, an alarm went off in the back of Peter’s head, and the door swung open to reveal a tall, dark figure, broad-shouldered and wielding a gun, clearly ready to shoot. Peter was too startled to say anything.

Then, the figure lowered his gun, shoulders sinking in relief, his oversized trench coat not quite following.

“Hey, fellas. Nice of you to show up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It took like an hour to edit this because I have realized that not editing is a mistake. XD


	7. Hazel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when all hope is lost, the spider fam comes to the rescue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: might be a little ooc. I tried, lol.

God, he sounded tired. And he looked even worse. Peter’s shoulders were slumped, and he smelled like sweat and alcohol—more so than usual. Had he taken up drinking again? That couldn’t be good.

  
Peter B. wanted to run to him and hold him and tell him he would never leave his side again, but Peni beat him to it. He watched as her small form almost knocked over the tall boy, his lanky figure pushed back by the sudden force. She was nearly half his size, but still, Peter Benjamin let out a strangled groan as if she were squeezing him too tight. Finally, she let him go, beaming up at him as Miles and Ham approached him for their turn.

  
Gwen stayed back, only offering Peter a smile. She had opened up a bit to the spiders in the time that they had known each other, but she was still not entirely comfortable with the whole physical contact thing.

  
After everyone had greeted him, Peter was left staring at the only one left of the group. Even after being together for several months, Peter B.’s heart skipped a beat as he made contact with those steely silver goggles. He could almost feel his boyfriend’s gaze meeting his as he nervously approached, hands shaking. Peter couldn’t believe it. After all this time apart, there he was. He was right there. He could almost touch him.

  
And he did. Peter B. reached out his hands and carefully cupped his boyfriend’s masked face, feeling him lean into his touch.

  
“I missed you,” Peter B. breathed, wanting to say more, but unable to find the words to express how he felt.

  
“You too.”

  
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a minute,” Ham interrupted. “Who’s this other guy?”

  
Peter’s hands fell to his sides, and he finally glanced behind his boyfriend, who turned to let him see.

  
“Uh, hi. I’m Michael Morales.” Peter hadn’t noticed the young stranger before. Their lithe figure was slumped over slightly as they gave a shy wave. Another spider? Where had they come from? Certainly not this dimension. They were covered in blood — red blood.

  
Before he could question them, Ham walked past him and offered the kid an exaggeratedly outstretched hand.

  
“Peter Porker. Nice to meet ya.”

  
Michael shook his hand, stifling what could have been a laugh, but sounded more like a cough. Finally, Peter B. stepped forward.

 

“I’m Peter B. Parker, this is Miles, Gwen, and Peni,” he said, motioning to each of the kids in turn. Before he got very far into the introduction, he felt that odd, overwhelming tingling in his body.

  
“You… You too?” Michael asked, their voice hoarse. “There are more?”

  
Peter B. nodded. “Can you tell us how you got here?”

  
The young spider fiddled with their gloves, and he got the sense that they were more anxious than he was.

  
Michael began to look up, but before they met Peter’s eyes, a dark figure stepped in front of them. Peter Benjamin was shielding them from him, almost protectively. His goggles gleamed, and he didn’t move or speak. His hand was instinctively placed on his gun holster. Peter B. sensed that he was ready to defend them, with violence if he needed to.

  
“Noir?” Peter B. questioned. The sound of the pet name the spiders had given him—chosen by Peni and Peter B., who were both familiar with the genre of crime fiction—seemed to break him out of his trance. He cleared his throat, dipping his head to remove his hat.

  
“We don’t know. I found him on the street. Says he came here through a portal, but there haven’t been any more.” He paused. “At least, not any that I’ve seen.”

  
“Well, we’ve got it figured out!” Peni interjected. “Portals have been popping up everywhere, so we tracked them to find you.”

  
“You guys didn’t have to come. I’m fine.” Peter said. Peter B. couldn’t believe his ears.

  
“What are you talking about? We missed you, bud.”

  
“Yeah, Peter. You can’t say stuff like that,” Miles said.

  
Peter just fiddled with his hat awkwardly, keeping his head down and remaining silent through his friends’ insistence.

  
“Hey.” Gwen stepped into the room and squared him up, despite the fact that he was much taller than her. “Peter, you can’t isolate yourself. Trust me, it doesn’t work. We’re here for you.”

  
Peter sighed and went to hang up his coat and hat, speaking as he moved.

  
“Michael’s sick,” he said, worry lacing his voice. “We need to get him to a doctor quick, and you know the ones here ain’t too swell.”

  
“We can get him home, but we’ll need your goober,” Peni said.

  
For a second, he didn’t move, pausing with his arms still in the air after having hung up his coat. Then, he fiddled with his wrist and removed the goober before handing it to Peni, not quite looking at her or any of the other spiders. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy striped pants.

  
“It’s broken,” Peni stated after very little examination.

  
“Bud… How long?” Peter B. asked quietly. At first, he had thought his boyfriend was just isolating himself again. Maybe that was the case, or maybe he really had wanted to see them this whole time.

  
“Since the last time I saw you.” Peter B.’s heart stuttered in his chest.

  
“Broke it in a fight the day after I left last. I was about to visit you that night, but I couldn’t.” Peter shuffled his feet as he spoke, his heavy boots clunking against the floor. Peter B. had never seen him this nervous. What had him so on edge?

  
“It’s okay, Peter,” Miles said. “Everyone makes mistakes. I break stuff all the time.”

  
“Thanks, Miles.”

  
“Okay! Time to get this fixed up!” Peni exclaimed, hopping into SP//dr, which she had rebuilt a while back, upgrading it both to fit in her pocket and to expand to a much larger size than it could before.

  
The eyes on Michael’s mask widened.

  
“What? Never seen a mech before?” Peter B. teased.

  
Michael shook his head, not taking his eyes off of the machine, which was beginning to work on the goober.

  
“You’ll get used to it,” Peter Benjamin said. Peter B. looked at him. It had been so long. He had so much to talk about and to ask about. Really, he just wanted to spend time with him again. But first, he had a question.

  
“Noir, can I talk to you for a minute?” Both Peter and Michael looked at him, confused, but Peter nodded and motioned toward the bedroom. Michael returned to watching Peni in astonishment as the two escaped the scene silently, trying not to draw attention from the other spiders.

  
“How long has he been here?” Peter B. asked when they sat down on the bed. It was small. It was a wonder the tall boy fit on it.

  
“A couple weeks.” Peter B. had never known his boyfriend to speak so little when asked questions like that. That on top of the rest of his strange behavior—like the fidgeting instead of his regular hand motions when he spoke—made Peter B. nervous.

  
“Bud, what’s up with you? You’re not acting like yourself.”

  
Peter Benjamin shook his head dismissively.

  
“Is it the kid?” There was a pause, and neither one of them said anything. Peter Benjamin kept his head down.

  
“That’s it, isn’t it?”

  
Noir stayed silent, but his hands started fidgeting in his lap as if he wanted to move them somewhere. In fact, he was known to cover his face when he was embarrassed. Peter B. smiled.

  
“You don’t have to hide it from me. I know you want to keep him safe, but this is becoming a real problem.” As he said this, his voice had a hint of humor, hoping that his boyfriend wouldn’t take him seriously. “You’ve got to stop adopting random kids off the street.”

  
Finally, Noir looked up at him and tilted his head to the side. “Adopting?”

  
“Come on, I saw the way you look at him. You’re more of a mother hen than I am.” Peter B. smirked jokingly.

  
“I haven’t adopted anyone.” Peter’s voice was taut.

  
“What about Peni?” Peter B. could feel Noir’s body heating up at that.

  
“That’s different. She’s just a kid.”

  
“And so is Michael.”

 

“He’s sixteen,” Noir corrected him.

  
Peter B. sighed. He wouldn’t be getting anything out of him tonight. He would try again later, though, after watching a bit more.

  
Peter B. would figure it out eventually. He always did.

  
“Okay, love. Come on. Let’s get back out there and catch up with the group.”

  
When he stood up, Noir didn’t follow. Peter B. looked back at him questioningly.

  
“What color did you say your eyes are again?” Peter Benjamin asked. Peter B. smiled.

  
“Hazel. It’s a shade of brown.” He could see the gears turning in his boyfriend’s head as he processed the knowledge.

  
“Hazel.”

  
Finally, he stood and followed Peter B. back into the main room.

 

* * *

 

“So, what pronouns do you use?” Gwen asked as Peter B. and Noir reentered the main room.

  
“They/them,” Michael replied, their voice hoarse, but a smile was visible through their mask.

  
“Peter, you’re back! I’m almost done with the goober,” Peni spoke from inside SP//dr, her voice slightly distorted.

  
Peter joined the rest of the spiders on the worn carpeted floor, followed by Peter B., who sat with a grunt, as they continued questioning Michael.

  
“So, what’s your dimension like?” Miles asked.

  
Michael visibly hesitated. “It’s like yours, I guess. There’s color. It’s in the 2000s. There’s technology and all that.”

  
“What are the bad guys like?” Peter B. chimed in.

  
“Oh. Well…” Michael thought for a moment. “There’s the Lizard. He’s pretty scary. That’s where I got this scar, actually.” They pulled up their mask partially to reveal the left side of their jaw. A thick, vertical scar ran across it.

  
The spiders responded with a variety of reactions ranging from murmured approval to wincing.

Gwen remained silent. The spiders all knew about what happened to her Peter Parker.

  
“And there’s Doc Ock. She’s got mechanical tentacles! It’s insane!”

  
“Oh, yeah,” Miles interjected. “We fought the one in my universe when we first met.”

  
“In my universe, she’s a he,” Peter B. said. Gwen snorted, and everyone turned their eyes on her.

  
“That was blunt.”

  
“Well, in my universe, he’s a cat!” Ham interjected, sparking a round of laughter from the group.

  
As the spiders talked about the villains, Peter felt a chill run down his spine. Thinking about the people he had fought was not his favorite thing in the world. The villains in his dimension had more sinister plans than the others. Compared to other things, racism couldn’t be justified.

  
After a little while, Peni finally announced that she was finished, allowing him a break from the conversation.

  
“I upgraded it with stronger material, just in case,” she grinned proudly.

  
“Thank you, Peni.” Peter took the gizmo gently in his hands as if he was afraid he would break it.

  
“I’ll make you one too, Michael, so you can get back home.”

  
Michael beamed behind their mask. “Thank you so mu—” Their voice broke off into a coughing fit, and they clutched their torso as red began to stain the silver webs on their mask.

  
The spiders began to collectively panic, rushing to Michael’s side to see if they could help. Peter Benjamin got there first, but it was Peter B. who spoke.

  
“Oh, god, are you okay?”

  
Michael shook their head, still coughing.

  
“Miles, go get some water.”

  
“On it!” Miles rushed from where he was seated.

 

“Will you take off your mask?” Peter B. asked cautiously.

  
With shaking hands, they pushed their masked off as the coughing subsided slightly before starting up again.

  
Blood was smeared around their mouth, and tears were pooling in their squeezed-shut eyes. Peter never knew color could be so horrifying.

  
Worried words blurred in Peter’s ears as the spiders tried to make Michael more comfortable. All he could do was watch Michael suffer and his friends worry while he sat helpless, frozen.

  
After what seemed like forever, the coughing stopped, and Michael’s wheezing breath evened out.

  
“Here.” Miles handed Michael the water, and they drank it tentatively.

  
“I think it’s time we get you out of here,” Peter B. said wryly.

  
“Let me trace their signature so I can see what dimension to find,” Gwen said, fiddling with her watch.

  
“No!” Michael rasped suddenly. Everyone turned to look at them.

  
“Why? Don’t you want to go home?” Miles asked.

  
“I don’t want to go home weak,” they said quickly. “There could be a villain or something waiting for me. I can’t fight like this.”

  
Something about that didn’t sound right to Peter, but he remained silent.

  
“What about your folks?” Ham asked. “Won’t they be worried?”

  
Michael shook their head. “They know that I’m Spider-Man. They know I can handle myself.”

  
“Well, then we’ll take you back to Aunt May’s house. She can help take care of you.” Peter B. resolved.

  
Peter watched as Michael practically slumped in relief. What was so bad about their dimension that they didn’t want to go back? It couldn’t be worse than his dimension—not that they had seen much of it. But even with the gizmo, which prevented glitching, they had to go home eventually.

  
But he would worry about that later. For now, he needed to get them somewhere safe. Somewhere with medicine.

  
“Let’s scram.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh sorry this took so long. I edited it like fifty times to get it semi-decent.  
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael wakes up in a strange place.  
> Alternate title: Michael has a potty mouth, but only in their head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in so long! I was a little stuck on this chapter, but I finally got it finished.  
> Some of it might be a little OOC, so I would be glad to accept suggestions on how to improve the characterization of the spiders.  
> This chapter's a little bit longer than the previous ones, so enjoy!

Michael watched patterns dance across their eyelids. Despite how tired they were, they couldn’t sleep.

  
They opened their eyes to find the familiar black-and-white Peter standing before them. He must have come back from work early. Michael waited, but Peter said nothing, instead making his way over to the side of the bed.

  
The smell of liquor suddenly filled Michael’s senses. Why, they wondered, did he always come back smelling like alcohol? It certainly couldn’t be rubbing alcohol used to cleanse his wounds. It smelled like whiskey.

  
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Peter said suddenly. Michael was confused once more. Even though he was about to go to bed, he still wore his work clothes, including his mask. He always wore long sleeves and something to cover his neck. When he wasn’t wearing his turtleneck, he wore a scarf.

  
As Peter left the room, Michael suddenly felt a sort of emotion arise in their chest.

  
“Wait!” they croaked. They immediately regretted saying anything. Peter turned back to face them, goggles gleaming that ominous silver.

  
Michael hesitated. _Shit! Why did I do that?_

  
“What is it?” Peter interrupted their panic. Now they _had_ to say what was on their mind.

  
Taking a deep breath, Michael looked Peter in the face.

  
“Will you stay with me?”

  
In the blink of an eye, Peter was beside the bed once again. A gloved hand made its way down to Michael’s face, cupping their cheek. The other hand reached to his mask and pulled it up over his nose. For the first time, Michael got a clear glance of his face, or at least what they could see of it. His skin was gray, just like his world, but somehow, it was still surprising.

  
Before Michael knew it, Peter was leaning down to them, hand still on their cheek. Michael closed their eyes and--

  
A deep breath filled Michael’s aching lungs as they woke from their dream. They opened their eyes, but instead of the familiar monochrome, color filled their vision. Where were they?

  
Michael was in a bedroom, they were sure. They were laying on a soft bed that was against a light cream wall. A blanket draped over their body. It was much warmer than Peter’s coat, they noted.

  
_Peter._

  
In their dream, was he about to kiss them? There was no other explanation. Their crush must have been worse than they thought.

  
But if it was a dream, what did he really look like? He always wore his mask around them. Would they ever see his face?

  
“Hey, Michael? You awake, pal?"

  
“Porker?” Michael murmured groggily, snapping out of their thoughts.

  
“‘Ham’ is fine.”

  
The quiet _clip-clop_ of hooves on the floor told them that he was approaching the bed.

  
“Where are we?” Michael asked hoarsely.

  
“We’re at Aunt May’s house in Miles’ universe. She was kind enough to let you stay here until you’re better.”

  
“How did I get here?” Michael didn’t remember leaving Peter’s dimension, let alone arriving at this “Aunt May’s” house.

  
“You passed out on the way here, so we carried you through the portal. You know, you’re heavier than you look!” Ham answered, his body sagging in an exaggerated expression of exhaustion.

  
Michael would have laughed, but their lungs hurt too much. Instead, they mustered up a small smile before laying back on the bed. “Thank you.”  
“Here. Aunt May bought these for you.”

  
Michael reopened one eye to see a bright orange shirt and some comfortable-looking pajama pants. They knew orange wasn’t really their color, but they were just glad to have something that would fit a little better.

  
“Thanks, Ham.”

  
“No problem, m’they’dy.” Ham tipped a hat that Michael hadn’t realized was there before he touched it. _Was_ it there before he touched it?

  
The pig turned to leave the room. “If you need anything, just say the word.” With that, he was gone.

  
Ham was strange, Michael decided, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

 

* * *

 

Michael peeled their sleep-crusted eyes open. Their body felt heavy as if they were being weighed down by something, but the only thing over them was what felt like a blanket.

  
How long had they been out? They didn’t even remember falling asleep. Judging by how numb their limbs were and how parched they felt, it had been a while.

  
Michael took a breath, trying their best to clear the sleep from their head. They almost let out a groan. Their lungs ached worse than they had before.

  
Out of the fogginess of their mind, Michael picked out a voice. It was a light tenor laced with concern.

  
“How are they doing?”

  
_Oh._ It was Peter B. A higher voice spoke next. It was one that Michael didn’t recognize.

  
“Not well. We might have to take them to the hospital. With how much blood they’re coughing up, I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a punctured lung.”  
From how far away it sounded, Michael figured the voices were outside of the room.

  
“That’s not such a good idea. For all I know, the doctors would lock them up and experiment on them. I mean, the kid shoots webs out of their wrists for god’s sake. That’s more than kind of suspicious.” There was a pause. “Besides, Noir wouldn’t let them anywhere near a hospital after what he’s seen.”

  
“Well, we’ve got to do something before they get even worse.”

  
Michael heard Peter B. sigh. Was he really that worried? How bad were they? They couldn’t remember anything past meeting the rest of the spiders. Michael couldn’t fathom that they had anything more than the common cold, but with how much their lungs hurt, they realized it must have developed into something worse. As for the fever they felt growing in their body, why would it be that bad? They had remembered to take their medicine every day… Or had they?

  
_Shit!_ They had left it in Peter’s dimension. They always kept a small pack of it in a hidden pocket in their suit, but for the first time, they clearly remembered not having it with them.

  
“Do they… still have nightmares?” Peter’s voice came quietly, startling Michael out of their horror.

  
Michael’s head started pounding. Of course, another headache. It almost felt worse than the cramping in their abdomen.

  
“Yes. They’re still very violent, too, so someone will have to watch them so they can’t hurt themself.”

  
Michael gripped their head and torso as Peter said something they couldn’t hear over the ringing in their ears.

  
“...chael. Michael!”

  
Michael opened their eyes to see Peter B.’s unkempt eyebrows knitted in concern, and they suddenly realized that they were screaming. The pain made their vision blur and their head dizzy. They did their best to quiet the sounds that they couldn’t feel coming from their mouth as a bead of sweat dripped down their temple.

  
“Michael, what’s wrong?”

  
“Head… hurts,” they managed between staggering breaths. They couldn’t let him know what was really going on.

  
“I’ll get you some medicine,” Peter said as he hurried out of the room.

  
When he returned, he gave Michael five pills. The recommended amount wouldn’t do anything for their fast metabolism.

  
Upon being handed a glass of water to take the medicine with, Michael immediately downed it, suddenly feeling dehydrated. More of the water ended up on their shirt and the bed than in their mouth.

  
Before they could ask, Peter had already refilled the glass. Michael looked up at him gratefully, and their breathing slowed somewhat. They drank more slowly this time, careful not to spill the water.

  
“You’re pretty thirsty, huh?”

  
“Yeah.” Michael’s voice was more breath than sound.

  
Peter B. sat down on the bed next to them. “You’re really sick. We might have to take you to the hospital.”

  
Michael shuddered at the thought. They had been to the hospital before a couple times, neither of which were helpful, let alone pleasant.

  
“I know, I know. But I being spider-people and all that, we can protect you if something goes wrong. Besides, there’s a whole legal thing about experimenting on people, I’m pretty sure, so I think you’ll be safe.”

  
Michael simply shrugged in response. Peter sighed.

  
“We’ll get you back home soon. I promise.”

  
That sinking feeling in their stomach gathered as they remembered that they would have to go home after this. If only they could delay that as long as possible…  
“What? You got homework when you get back or something?”

  
Michael smiled. If only. How could they reply to that? Surely he would pry if they said anything suspicious. Their eyes darted around the room for a moment, searching for anything that could provide some sort of conversation. Without much effort, they fell on Peter B.’s face. Michael hadn’t seen him without his mask before. They had thought he was in his twenties, maybe his thirties, when they first met him. But looking at him now, with lines etched in his forehead, messy stubble, and gray hairs poking out of his mop of a hairdo, he seemed much older. Michael suddenly wondered what he had seen.

  
“How long have you been Spider-Man?” they asked abruptly.

  
But Peter didn’t seem surprised. Instead, his lips curled into a bitter smile. “Too long.”

  
Before Michael could think anything of it, the smile quickly faded as if it weren’t meant to escape onto his face.

  
“What about you? You’re what, sixteen? How long have you been behind the mask?”

  
Of course, he would ask that. What could they say? All they knew was the truth.

  
“Not long enough.”

  
Michael could see the gears turning in Peter’s head. They figured he was wondering how anyone could possibly think that becoming Spider-Man would be more convenient if it happened at a younger age. It was such a jarring experience for all of the spiders. How could it be beneficial to have that kind of trauma when they were younger?

  
_If only he knew,_ Michael mused. _If only he knew._

 

* * *

 

The night was quiet. Aunt May’s house was outside of the larger part of the city, something that Peter wasn’t used to. For the first time in a long time, he could see stars. Of course, they weren’t his, but they allowed some form of comfort in this place that wasn’t his home.

  
Peter’s trench coat waved in the warm late summer breeze as he surveyed the residential street. In the dark, the world almost seemed to be monochrome. It was almost like home. Almost.

  
Even though the street seemed like it was built for much wealthier people, it reminded him of his own Aunt May’s home. He hadn’t been back there in a long time. He couldn’t go back after what he had done.

  
Doing his best to change his train of thought, Peter let his mind wander to Michael. They had passed out while the spiders were getting ready to leave Peter’s dimension. They showed no signs of waking up, so he had carried them through the portal. That was the closest he had ever been to them, Peter realized. Even in their seemingly catatonic state, Michael had clung to him, hands sticking to his coat and legs wrapped around his waist. Peter could feel their ragged breathing on his neck. It was then that he promised himself he would protect them at all costs, even if it killed him. He could deal with that if it meant Michael was alive and well.

  
Suddenly, a tingle ran up Peter’s spine. He leapt to his feet, spinning on his heels to face the threat with his hand on his gun holster and an arm extended to web up the unknown enemy if needed.

  
“Woah, easy there, tiger.” Peter lowered his eyes to meet the sound of the cartoon pig’s voice. Peter almost grimaced at him. Ham knew not to sneak up on him. He was skittish enough as it was.

  
As soon as he met his face, however, Peter could tell that something was wrong.

  
“We’ve got a problem with Michael. I need your help,” Ham explained.

  
“What is it?”

  
“You’ll see. Just come on, we don’t have all the time in the world.”

  
The pair jumped off the room and entered the house only to be met with the sound of screaming.

  
“ _Peter!_ ”

  
Noir’s heart jumped into his throat. It was Michael. They sounded like they were in agony, like they were being attacked.

  
“I tried waking them, but they just yelled louder,” Ham whispered to Peter. “P.B.’s not here to help, so I don’t know what else to do.”

  
Peter almost asked how Ham knew that Michael was calling for _him_ , but it suddenly struck him that they wouldn’t call for anyone else. Michael didn’t know Peter B. or Ham well enough to call for them. Not like _that_.

  
Without another word, Peter made his way to the bedroom that once belonged to the Peter Parker of Miles’ universe.

  
Somehow, it still surprised him that even in the dark, colors were still visible in this universe. Michael’s brightly-colored shirt was duller, though, in the dim light.

  
“Peter! P-peter!” Michael cried once again, making Peter forget his thoughts. Cautiously, he stepped into the room.

  
“Michael?” His voice was drowned out by another call of his name that sent a shiver down his spine.

  
“Michael, I’m here. It’s okay, I’m here.” Peter’s words were to no avail.

  
“Peter, _please,_ ” Michael cried, their eyebrows knitted. “Please, come back.”

  
_Come back?_ Did they think he had left?

  
“Michael, I’m here.” He didn’t know what else to say. Michael wouldn’t wake up. What could he do? The last time Peter had touched them when they were having a nightmare… He didn’t want to think about it. But there was no other choice.

  
Hesitantly, Peter’s hand found their arm.

  
“I’m here.”

  
“P… eter?” Michael’s voice came in a quiet, broken whine. It was like they knew his touch. Peter could tell that they were still asleep by the way their eyes remained squeezed closed.

  
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

  
“‘Eter….” Michael mewled. It almost sounded like a purr. Taking that as a good sign, Noir sat down on the bed, careful to keep his hand on their arm.

  
As Peter got closer, Michael became visibly calmer. Their face became soft and their muscles relaxed as they continued to murmur his name. It almost made Peter feel special, somehow, to be the subject of a nightmare-induced obsession. But, of course, it was just a nightmare. It meant nothing.

  
Feeling Michael’s overheated body next to his made Peter feel drowsy for the first time in a long time. He could fall asleep right there. Seeing as he was needed, or at least, could help in some minute way, there was no reason to leave. Why not indulge for just a little while? At least until Michael could fare on their own. A little nap couldn’t hurt.

 

* * *

 

Peter B. knew it was the middle of the night, but he had a feeling that Noir wouldn’t like to be left alone with his thoughts for long. So, he opened a portal to Aunt May’s house and found himself in the living room. The house was silent.

  
Peter Benjamin usually slept on the couch when he stayed over, or the floor when someone else was using it. But the living room was empty.

  
Peter checked the roof, which was a popular brooding spot for most of the spider gang. It was empty. There was only one other place he could be.

  
When Peter B. opened the door to the bedroom, he could hardly believe his eyes. Noir was in the bed with Michael with his arms around them.

  
Of course, he had no problem with it, but he was surprised. Peter rarely allowed physical contact with other people, especially of such intimate nature. Peter B. couldn’t see his face, but by the way Noir was lying, he knew that he was rather content holding them.

  
A smile grew on Peter B.’s face. If Noir was happy, he was happy. That was all that mattered to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


	9. Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually proofread this chapter! Whoo!  
> Also, I used a reference for the house: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/3o9y1o  
> All credit goes to the creator.  
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Self-harm, mentions of crippling insecurity

Peter opened his eyes. Where was he? Oh, right. Miles’ Aunt May’s house. But he wasn’t in the living room. Blinking to adjust to the color, Peter realized he was staring at a light-colored wall and, blinking once more, a blob of a brighter color.

  
_Applesauce._

  
He wasn’t wearing his glasses. Where were they? Had they fallen off while he was asleep?

  
“Peter?”

  
_Oh._ It was Michael.

  
_Oh._ It was _Michael._

  
Peter blinked, their face finally coming into blurry focus. He could make out a small smile.

  
“Hi,” Michael said sheepishly. Peter took in a breath to reply, but nothing came out.

  
“Your mask, Peter,” Michael gasped, and he suddenly realized that he wasn’t wearing it.

  
_Damn it!_ He had wanted to hide his face for as long as possible. He wanted to spare Michael from seeing his ugly scars, his messy hair, his tired eyes. And now that they could see…

  
“You’re so beautiful.” Michael reached their hand to Peter’s face, taking him in reverently. Beautiful? That was the last word he would use to describe himself.

  
“I, uh….” Peter didn’t know what to say. How could he let this happen? “I’ve got to go.”

  
Nearly falling out of the bed, Peter stumbled toward the door, catching a glance of Michael’s face on his way out. Their eyebrows were knitted in confusion, and he could tell they were upset. He knew this was a bad idea. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep with them.

  
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Peter glanced up at the grandfather clock against the far wall. He had been asleep for nine hours? He couldn’t remember the last time he slept for more than six.

  
Nine hours in a bed with Michael. What if Peter B. had seen? He would be heartbroken. He would think that he was cheating on him.

  
He couldn’t go on like this. He had to stay away from Michael. He couldn’t love both of them. How could he have let this go on for so long? It was bad enough that Peter B. could get hurt from associating with him, but Michael….

  
He couldn’t tell them how he felt. He couldn’t tell Peter either, or any of the rest of the team. It was bad enough that the spiders were his friends, but what if they got any closer?

  
Peter’s thoughts snapped violently from his careful control, speaking of things that recently he only saw in his nightmares.

  
A scarred face covered by a white mask.

  
_Felicia_. She didn’t want to speak to him anymore. Not after what he did. It was all his fault. If he wasn’t careful, that would be Peter B. or Michael.

  
Before Peter could fight it, another image flashed in his mind.

  
A rotting body. Cannibalized. It was his Uncle Benjamin. Killed by the same person that almost killed his Aunt May.

  
Peter would never forget the sound of her voice when she told him to put the gun down. But he didn’t. And now, he couldn’t go back. Not after what he did.

  
Bare hands that Peter didn’t remember unclothing slid down a mask that he didn’t remember putting on. The feeling of the fabric on his skin only made it worse.

  
His mind conjured yet another image as what was left of his consciousness vainly floundered to keep hold.

  
Dead eyes. A hole in his friend’s head. Robby had never been the same after he was experimented on. Peter had been too slow to save him. It was his fault.

  
_My fault._

  
Peter closed his eyes and shook his head, but the images remained. His hands worked autonomously, digging into one of the pockets in his coat -- the secret one that he only kept one thing in; the one he only acknowledged when his mind ran away with him -- and dug out a small paper box.

  
_I’m better off alone._

  
Scarred, calloused fingers slid the cover off of the box and dug inside. An emptiness gathered his chest and hollowed out his organs.

  
I’m better off not feeling anything at all.

  
A disembodied hand pulled out a small stick.

  
_Scritch!_

 

* * *

 

Michael lied in bed staring at the ceiling. What had they done wrong? They had started to think that Peter liked them.

  
_I guess I was wrong._ Michael closed their eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in Peter’s lingering scent. They were so used to it now. They missed him.

  
But finally, _finally,_ they had seen his face. And he was more than just beautiful. He was perfect. Michael never could have imagined he would look like that: an attractively square jaw, light gray eyes that told a story they couldn’t fathom, and silver scars that set off the structure of his face. Where had he gotten them? By the way he reacted to them seeing him, Michael figured they might never find out. But to them, he was perfect.

  
_What if he hates me?_ Michael suddenly realized. No, that was ridiculous. Maybe if they just talked to him, they would feel better. Yeah, that was a good plan.

  
But as soon as their feet touched the carpet, they realized it was _not_ a good plan.

  
_I’ll just go get a glass of water instead,_ Michael decided. _I’ll talk to him later._

  
Michael braced themself on the doorframe as they made their way into the hallway. Which way was the kitchen? Probably somewhere down the hall, they decided. As they walked, their hands traveled along the cream-colored wall to keep them from falling.

  
Suddenly, the ground disappeared beneath them. Letting out a squeak, they grasped at the air and thankfully caught themself on the wall with their sticky hands. They nearly fell down the stairs. Michael’s head spun as they gazed at the floor they could have landed on. From there, it seemed a long way down.

  
For a second, they just breathed. Did they really think they could do this on their own? No. But they had to. They couldn’t bother Peter again.

  
With aching legs, Michael began to make their way down the green, carpeted stairs. A couple of times, their hands slipped, but they caught themself.

  
_I can do it._

  
_I can_ do it.

  
They were almost to the next floor.

  
_Just one more-- Shit!_

  
They slipped on the last stair, landing on their chest at the bottom.

  
“Ow.”

  
Begrudgingly, they collected themself and found their feet once again. They had finally made it to the living room. Now, where was the kitchen?

  
Looking around for a doorway, they suddenly realized that there was someone in the room.

  
It was Peter. He was sitting so still that they hadn’t seen him. By the looks of it, he hadn’t seen--or heard--them either. How? They had made such a ruckus.

  
He was sitting on the floral-print couch with his back to them. What could he be so focused on? He was always so alert, even when he was fiddling with his Rubyx Cube. Or Rubic’s Cube, as Miles had corrected them.

  
Michael began to creep around the back of the couch.

  
_Oh._ He was wearing his mask again. Michael felt their heart sink.

  
_Does he really want to hide his face that badly?_

  
Michael approached him and realized that he was holding something. It produced an odd white light, flickering in his hand. It was… a match?

  
Upon closer examination, his hands were ungloved. Weird. They had never seen his hands without gloves before. Somehow, it surprised them that the gloves added nothing to the size of his hands. They just really that big. They were gray, like his face, but, looking closer, Michael saw that they were covered in pale markings.

  
_Wait._

  
Those were scars. Burn scars.

  
_Oh, no._

  
“Peter?”

  
He visibly jumped, quickly putting out the flame in his hand. He stared up at them, emotions hidden behind his mask. Michael felt like crying.

  
“You said you’d help me get better,” they whimpered. Peter said nothing.

  
“Peter, you promised!” Tears gathered in their eyes as they stared at him in shock, but he said nothing, not daring to move. It was just that cold, dead gleam of silver staring up at them.

  
“Michael?” Both Peter and Michael turned their heads to see Peter B. standing in the living room entrance.

  
Michael looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. Peter B. glanced from Michael to Noir, his face flickering with sorrowful realization.

  
“Michael, give us a moment, would you?” Peter B. requested softly. Michael nodded and slipped around the corner of the way doorway Peter B. had come from. But instead of leaving, they stayed just out of sight, listening.

  
Michael could hear Peter sit down next to Noir.

  
“I thought you said you were better, bud.”

  
“I was! I mean, I _am._ ” Michael peeked around the corner just in time to see Peter B. looking sorrowfully at Noir, who had his head in his hands.

  
“You need to get help. There are some great counselors in my universe that wouldn’t mind doing me a favor. It wouldn’t cost a penn--”

  
“I don’t need help!” Peter yelled, startling Michael. Peter B. looked taken aback, but not offended, only sad.

  
Peter said nothing, and Noir averted his eyes.

  
After a long moment, Peter B. spoke.

  
“Look, you know you can talk to me. To _any of us._ We’re here for you, Peter. We love you. _I_ love you. I hate seeing you this way.”

  
Peter lowered his head. After a pause, his voice came in a quiet rasp. “Please, don’t tell the kids.”

  
Peter B.’s response was gentle but sad, placing a fond hand over his Noir’s shoulder. “All right, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof PB/Noir is my favorite ship.  
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading!  
> Make sure to leave kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed :) Your comments give me life <3


	10. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bath time :)
> 
> Niche Topic/Trigger Warning: Non-sexual nudity, NSAP (non-sexual age play, AKA age regression as a coping method)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the turning point where stuff will get weird. Michael's universe is revealed to be pretty different.  
> This has been a warning. XD

Peter stood at the foot of the stairs. This was  _ not _ what he had planned to do today.

Peter B. had requested that he apologize to Michael for what happened the day before. They were having a conversation in the kitchen when the topic of Michael came up.

 

_ “Look, I know you like them.” Peter B. said without looking up from the sandwich he was making. _

_ Noir opened his mouth to speak, but Peter B. was quicker, now turning to face him. _

_ “It’s obvious, love. You don’t have to hide it.” If he was angry, he didn’t show it. Instead, he was smiling humorously. “You can flirt with them. I don’t care.” _

_Peter couldn’t hide the bewilderment on his face. “I--”_ _  
__“But!” Noir closed his mouth once more to listen to Peter B._

_ “You have to apologize for scaring them.” _

_ “I… What?” _

 

What could he say? “I’m sorry for scarring you for life?” No, bad phrasing. Peter searched through his head trying to find the right words, but he couldn’t come up with anything. He supposed that he could just leave and not say anything to Michael, but then Peter B. would be upset with him. He didn’t want to make him upset.

Peter took in a deep breath to calm his nerves.  _ Let’s do this. _

Peter stalked up the stairs, his footsteps not making a sound. When he reached the doorway, Michael didn’t notice him. They were messing with something in their hands.

“Michael, can I come in?”

“Peter?” They looked surprised. He figured he was too far away from them for their spider sense to go off.

“I…” Peter started. He fiddled with a loose string on the hem of his turtleneck. “I came to apologize for earlier.” Before he could continue, Michael spoke up.

“It’s okay.”

_ It’s okay? _ That was the last thing he imagined they would say.

“You’re just sick,” Michael explained. “I mean, not like me, but your brain is sick. And just like any other kind of disease, it can be treated. But it takes time. So, it’s okay.”

Peter felt like they were more upset than they let on. How could they not be? He had to fix this. “Michael, let me make it up to you.”

Michael furrowed their eyebrows. “You don’t have to. It’s not about me.”

“Please,” he insisted. He couldn’t let this go unfixed. But how would he fix it? Did he really have the moxy to go through with his plan?

Careful not to let any emotion show on his face, Peter took a leap of faith. “What if I take you on a date?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and Peter could have sworn he saw them stop breathing.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”  
“I mean when you’re feeling better. You can pick the place and time.”

“What about Peter B.?”

Oh. Somehow, it surprised Noir that they had caught on. Then again, as much as the pair touched and glanced at each other, it wasn’t much of a secret.

“I asked. He said it was fine with him.”

“Uh, okay.” Michael avoided his eyes, clearly embarrassed, but Peter could tell they were pleased by the light blush that dusted their cheeks.

“In the meantime, how about we get you cleaned up?”

Michael looked down at themself as if they were only just noticing how matted their hair was, how wrinkled their clothes were. What they couldn’t see were the dark circles under their eyes, their cracked lips, the way their eyelashes were clumped together with tears.

A look of embarrassment flashed across their face as they nodded. “Yeah, I could use a shower.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure about this?” Michael asked as they hobbled into the bathroom. It was a lot nicer than the one at Peter’s apartment, they noted. His sink was cracked and the wallpaper was peeling. Just being in a place like that made them count their blessings, however few they were.

“Yes,” Peter replied simply, catching Michael as they nearly tripped on the doorway. Their cheeks glowed with embarrassment. They could see why he didn’t bother to argue. They could hardly stand on their own. Was he really going to help them shower? They had hardly seen him with his mask off, and now he would be seeing them naked.

_ Not fair! _

Suddenly, Michael realized that Peter would be seeing  _ all _ of them. Their stomach dropped. It wasn’t just their arms that were covered in scars. All the places that their abuser touched that they cut just to get the feeling of his hands to go away….

Trying to avert their thoughts, Michael sat down on the toilet and started to pull their shirt over their head. But, their arms were weaker than they thought. Sighing, they gave up and sat there with their arms and head tangled in orange fabric listening to the shower water hit the floor of the bathtub.

“Need some help there?”  
“Please.”

Michael shivered as Peter slipped his warm, strong hands against their arms and gently pulled the shirt over their head. They didn’t realize how intimate it was until they saw the look on Peter’s face. It was as if he remembered doing something like that before.

“I can do the rest,” Michael assured him, but they made no move to take off the rest of their clothes. Peter seemed to sense their hesitation.

“I’ll go through this whole damn thing with my eyes closed if I need to.”

Michael choked out a laugh. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Just give me a second.”

Bracing themself on the sink, they pushed themself up, but their arms felt like gelatin, forcing them to sit back down with a frustrated sigh.

“How about a bath instead?” Peter suggested. “You shouldn’t strain yourself.”

Michael nodded weakly, once again embarrassed at their helplessness. They couldn’t even help Peter figure out how to plug the drain, as he was obviously struggling.

While Peter was turned around, Michael decided it was as good of a time as ever to get undressed. When all their clothes were on the floor, they wrapped a nearby towel around their body.

When Peter faced them again, Michael saw his eyes flutter up their body. They felt vulnerable, but he wasn’t being invasive. He would never hurt them like their ex did. They were safe.

Turning toward the tub, Michael noticed that instead of water there was a blanket of bubbles. They smelled like some sort of flower that they couldn’t name. They looked back up at Peter, whose face was slightly more gray than usual. Was he  _ blushing? _

“I figured it would help preserve your modesty.”

Michael smiled, stifling a laugh. “What a gentleman.”

Peter stepped to the side to allow them to get in the tub, and gaining a bit of strength, Michael stood shakily to face the tub. Their steps were almost faltering, but the bathtub was  _ right there. _ They could do it. They could  _ do _ it.

Facing away from Peter, they dropped the towel from their torso, standing completely exposed.

Michael could feel his gaze burning into their back and felt pleased with themself. At least they could do something right.

Becoming more confident, they took a step into the tub, but they put too much trust in their abilities and fell. Like before, Peter caught them. He always caught them.

He lowered Michael down into the water with his hands under their arms.

Suddenly, Michael felt small. The way Peter had held them reminded them of something their parents used to do when they were younger.

They took a deep breath.  _ Not now! _ Of all times to be in little space, this was certainly not it. Michael tried to push away the fog in their head, but their efforts were thwarted by the sound of Peter’s voice.

“Can I wash your hair?”

Michael turned their head to meet Peter’s face with a delighted smile. They loved having their hair touched. A giddy feeling rose in their chest when they realized that it would be  _ Peter _ touching their hair.

Michael opened their mouth to reply, but no words came out.

_ Uh oh. _ They had fallen nonverbal. There was nothing wrong, but what if Peter asked what was going on with them? They wouldn’t be able to answer.

Michael pushed the bad thoughts aside and focused on the moment. They nodded in reply to Peter’s question.

“Can you tilt your head back for me?”

Michael complied without a second thought. They liked how Peter assumed the care-taking role so easily. It made them feel comfortable and safe.

Out of the corner of their eye, they saw Peter drag a large plastic cup through the water and bring it back behind them. Gently, Peter held a hand to their forehead and poured the water over their hair. Michael sighed at the warmth.

Peter then started scrubbing shampoo into their hair as they messed with the bubbles.

_ Ah, ha! _ Roses. They smelled like roses.

Suddenly, Peter paused, his hands still in their hair.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked, and he withdrew his hands, rinsing them off in the tub.

Peter’s voice was nonchalant. “What happened to your neck? I saw that bruise when we first met, and it hasn’t healed yet.”

Michael’s breath caught in their throat. He didn’t know what it was? His universe must be truly different from theirs. What would they tell him? He wouldn’t understand if they tried to explain….

“It’s… it’s a mark that my ex gave me. It’s permanent.” They decided to spare Peter the details.

Peter simply gave an understanding hum and continued washing their hair. Was that it? He wasn’t going to question further? Michael almost sighed in relief.

“Can you tilt your head back for me?” Peter asked. Michael felt the fuzzy feeling of regression take over their brain once again as warm water rinsed the shampoo out of their hair.

It was almost euphoric. Michael had never felt so safe and taken care of before. There had always been something demanded of them in return. They had always been forced to do things they didn’t want to do. But every time Peter did something or touched any place on their body, he asked beforehand and made sure they were comfortable.

From behind them, Michael heard Peter laugh, and they suddenly realized they were humming a tune. It was a silly children’s song that they sometimes listened to when they were feeling upset. Michael was embarrassed, but Peter didn’t seem to mind, so they kept humming, once again getting lost in the bubbles and suds and the feeling of Peter’s warm hands against their skin.

“You ready to get out?” The question came all too soon. Michael turned to face Peter, frowning and putting on their best pouting face. He simply smiled.

“If you don’t get out soon, the water’ll get cold. Don’t want you gettin’ more sick than you already are.”  
Michael huffed, but allowed themself to be pulled out of the tub and dried off, held steady by Peter’s strong hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you dressed,” Noir said as he finished drying them and wrapped them in the towel.

Michael didn’t budge.

“What is it now?” Peter’s voice was more humorous than impatient.

Michael waved their hands in the air. “Up?”

“I don’t know. You’re awfully big.” Michael knew he was kidding. He had  _ spider strength, _ after all.

“ _ Please? _ ” they begged, hands still in the air.

“All right.”

Peter lifted Michael into his arms and made sure they were secure before heading into the bedroom.

_ Wow. _ Michael could see  _ everything _ from up there. They could see the top of the doorframes and the pretty wallpaper and curtains in the hallway. As they passed through the living room, they waved to Peter B., who was sitting on the couch drinking a cup of coffee. He waved back, clearly holding back a laugh. Michael could only imagine the look on Noir’s face.

Peter began climbing the stairs. Michael hadn’t noticed before, but the towel, the same one they had covered themself with earlier, was a dull green like the coat Peter B. always wore. They always thought it made him look like a hobo, though.

Finally, Peter set Michael down on the bed next to a pile of clothes. Michael rifled through it, curious. They pulled out a pair of striped pajama pants and a shirt.

The shirt was green like the towel but brighter. Michael liked green, they decided.

“Do you like green, Peter?” they murmured, voice high-pitched and soft as they dropped the towel, no longer caring that they were exposed.

“Which one is that?” he replied, focusing on unfolding the shirt and pants to avoid looking at them.

“Well…” Michael racked their brain for the right words. How could they describe a color? “It’s… like leaves and grass. And… it’s the taste of cilantro and… the sound of classical music and…” Michael stopped when they noticed Peter was staring at them, a confused look on his face.

“You’re really something, aren’t you?”

Michael beamed.

“All right, little fella. Let’s get you dressed. Do you want to wear your binder?”  
Michael shook their head. They felt safe here.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, Michael was dressed. Peter made to leave.

“Um, Peter?”

He turned back from the doorway. It was just like their dream, but this time, they could see his face. His real face.

“Will you stay for a bit?”

“All right.”

Michael suddenly found Peter next to them on the bed, looking at them expectantly.

“We don’t have to talk or anything, I guess. I just don’t want to be alone.”

Peter nodded. The pair sat on the bed in silence and for once, the quiet wasn’t deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I kind of skimped on the editing near the end, so if you find any errors, feel free to leave a correction in the comments :)


End file.
